


By Watchfires and the Thrones

by voleuse



Category: Route 666 (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: That was death, immediate and inglorious.What’s home supposed to mean, anyway?





	By Watchfires and the Thrones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityabrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/gifts).



> Set after the series concludes.

**i. _wander darkling in the eternal space, rayless and pathless_**  
While Cassie would have dearly loved to see Tanner, or Tenebrion, or _whatever_ locked away with Borodin, there were enough question marks in journalists’ eyes that campaigning for harsher punishment for supernatural entities felt a bit too much like putting herself in the spotlight again. So she heaped praise on Melchior and the handful of NBI and other law enforcement agents who hadn’t _completely lost their shit_ during the crisis, and hoped she’d end up in rolodexes as a consultant instead of a person of interest in the next go-around.

She was rolling into her second milkshake before she finally met Cisco’s concerned gaze. “What?”

He chuckled, sorting through his wallet to drop his half of the tab onto the table. “For a second, I thought you were having another one of your visions,” he explained, “but you were looking at the jukebox.”

Cassie smiled. “I bet a jukebox could get possessed as much as anything else we’ve seen.” She dug into her pockets as she found change to cover her share of the food, sighing as she counted out the coins. “I guess I’m just worried about what might happen next. I mean, Tanner’s still out there, somewhere, and Byleth might have survived.”

“Could be,” Cisco agreed. Then he reached out, covered one of her hands with his own. “But we’ll handle it, same as we did this time.”

Cassie smiled, and asked the waitress if she could take the milkshake to go.

 

**ii. _the dread of this their desolation_**  
Cisco talked in his sleep sometimes. Usually in the middle of the night, when Cassie was feeling antsy enough to want to keep moving instead of finding another grungy motel to bed down in. So she’d take the wheel, and he’d fall asleep while he was “navigating,” his arm serving as his pillow as he leaned against the passenger-side window. She’d turn the music down, make sure the skies looked clear, and inevitably, about half an hour after he’d fallen asleep, Cisco’s murmurs would begin. 

It was never anything alarming--the first couple of times, Cassie had braced herself, certain that she’d be treated to an encore of one of the all-too-many times they’d be captured, or attacked, or wounded, or possessed. But there was never any fear or urgency in his voice.

Well. Not _fighting for his life_ urgency, in any case.

Usually it was him talking to Miguel, not during the car chase that brought Cisco and Cassie together, but an earlier time. A time when Miguel was younger, and Cisco was reliving some moment in his son’s life. Soccer, Cassie imagined, once. Sometimes it was about a missed curfew. Sometimes it was about a girl.

And sometimes Cisco was talking to Blanca. It was usually in Spanish, and Cassie couldn’t quite follow it, with her less-than-fluent vocabulary. But the tone always got her: longing, always, and sometimes something more immediate. More… _something_ , where his voice dropped low, almost to a whisper, and he’d hum, sometimes, and Cassie would squirm a bit as she drove. Her skin felt tight, and she’d bite her lip, and she’d imagine what would happen if she pulled over. If she woke him up.

If he ever talked to her the way he talked to Blanca in his dreams at 2 AM.

Cassie drove.

 

**iii. _war did glut himself again_**  
Once, just once, Cassie had everything handled except for a very human, very excitable, and very slash-happy poacher who confused her for one of the incredibly creepy monsters that had infested the woods they’d been traveling through. (She wasn’t entirely sure how he had confused her--a live, human woman--with a bunch of decaying walking corpses, but sometimes she wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt.) She’d suffered a pretty mean slash across her upper arm before she managed to hit the guy with a shovel, and in the aftermath of the struggle, Cisco had torn a strip off his spare shirt to create a makeshift bandage.

Later, in the car, his jaw was tight and he turned the radio down. “Hey,” Cassie said, feeling a bit woozy but clear-headed enough to talk it through. “Thanks for,” she gestured to her arm, “you know.”

“Hm,” he responded.

“It was pretty bad luck,” she continued, “to run into a human in the middle of all that.”

“Hm,” he said again.

“But it turned out all right,” she offered, and Cisco didn’t even grunt. Instead, he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into park. He tugged Cassie closer, careful of her injured arm, and before she could process what was happening, he’d woven his hand into her hair and pulled her into a kiss, and then it was over, and she moaned as he backed away.

It was a dark night out, with only the moon and the faint glow of the car’s headlights to illuminate them. Cassie began to consider the least awkward way to get herself over the gear shift and back into his arms, but he started to speak before she could make it happen.

“Tomorrow,” he said. 

Cassie thought she might be panting, just a little. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Cisco repeated, “I teach you some hand-to-hand.”

“Oh.” Cassie considered the offer. “That’s probably a good idea.” She bit her bottom lip. “And tonight?”

Cisco grinned and, very gently, maneuvered her over the gear shift, and into his lap.

 

**iv. _she was the universe_**  
Morning came later than she expected, the sun beating down through the car’s windows, and her skin felt tight and hot where the light was hitting her. After a languorous minute or so, it occurred to Cassie that more of her skin was exposed than usual, and also, she was sprawled in the backseat of the car, and also, she was lying on top of Cisco. Even as her brain processed the information, Cisco stirred, the stubble on his jaw a rough caress against her shoulder.

“Morning,” she murmured, feeling somewhere beyond peaceful

“Mm,” Cisco said, his lips moving feather-light against her skin. 

“So, hand-to-hand?” she asked. She shifted against him, taking a mental inventory of the clothes they weren’t wearing.

Cisco’s hands tightened on her hips, and she managed not to whimper. “Maybe,” he said, “after.”

Cassie smiled, and agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary, and headings adapted from Lord Byron’s “Darkness.”


End file.
